


Festival

by GhostHost



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Megatron was born old, SO MUCH FLUFF, Young Love, barbarian au, self doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-12 10:56:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17466242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostHost/pseuds/GhostHost
Summary: Barbarian AU.Every five vorns, all of Cybertron's tribes come together to bathe in the firelight of the Festival. A celebration of unity, peace and prosperity, the Festival is one of the best places to find a mate, or start a courtship. On his way there; Rung's tribe joins up with Kaon's, and he finds himself shadowed by a then-young Megatron, whose determination to learn poetry ends with him laying claim to Rung as a mate when he becomes of age.25 vorns later, Megatron, Chief of the Kaon tribe, very much remembers that promise--and is determined to collect on it.The only thing left to do is convince Rung to go with it!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a commission piece for the lovely Popodoki that I went completely overboard on haha. Thank you so much for your patience! Thanks as well to my editors, who were awesome looking this piece over carefully. Thank you both!
> 
> This fic has been split into two chapters, the first one focusing on young Megatron, and the second coming back in when he's a tribal Chief.
> 
> There aren't any warnings for this one, other than that Megatron starts off younger. Age is a little hand wavy here, but we're going with 25 vorns being a decentish amount of time, and mechs remaining a youngling for quite some time before getting adult frames as well.

 

* * *

 The stars burned above.

That’s what Rung thought they were doing anyway, as the bright little dots blanketed the sky. All worked together to light the path his tribe was walking upon--an ancient, worn thing that had been traveled by many tribes for centuries over.

There was little talking at night--typically, the tribe didn’t _move_ at night. Yawns and blinking optics made rounds instead--and even their equine technobeasts looked a little confused as to why they were traveling by darkness instead of daylight.

Not that anyone complained. Not when they were traveling with a purpose;

To reach the Festival.

 _“Bworing._ ” Grumped the sparkling walking next to Rung. This was Pipes first Festival, and he and the tribes other sparkling, Riptide, had been pestering non-stop for stories. Tonight, Rung had decided to forgo anymore in favor of a history lesson.

Mostly because he was starting to run out of stories. 

“Give it a minute.” He chided gently, hand squeezing Pipes hand. “Some tales take time to get going.” He paused, making sure there wasn’t any more interruptions, before continuing. "And so Nova Prime decided to bring all the tribes together--"

As he did his best to make the origins of the Festival interesting for the little one's, his own processor reflected over the tale.

The Festival was a tradition held for so long it's origin wasn't even certain. All they had was what had been passed down, and over the years it had changed here and there, to further reflect not history, but intent. Held at the very center of the lands the Cybertronian tribes lived upon, the story told how the Festival had become a chance to bring everyone together. To focus on peace and unity, instead of fighting or war. It was a bit of a romantic tale now, something Rung didn't mind playing up so long as it kept the two little mechs entertained for the little bit they'd be walking longer.  

Reaching the center of the lands the Cybertronian tribes lived on was a long journey for Pious Pools. They were the coastal tribe, preferring to be near or close to the Acidic Seas, often camping deep inside the massive system of caves that nearly equaled the coastline. The journey wasn’t an easy one either, something that was starting to show in their youngest members. 

This was _tradition,_ though. More than that, it was important. To them, and to all the tribes.

Particularly since the Festival was only held every five vorns or so.

A grinding noise started up in his audio; the transformer’s version of a snore. Riptide, who had won the battle to ride atop Rung’s shoulders, had apparently, fallen victim to the night (or perhaps, Rung's "boring" stories.) He was now slumped over Rung’s helm, fully in recharge, snoozing away.

Rung smiled as he carefully adjusted Riptide so the sparkling didn’t fall off, before taking another vent and continuing once more.

The Festival celebrated all of Cybertron’s tribes--showing their strength and unity. It was more important now than ever, with war once again threatening them, and Rung knew more than one of the elders in his own tribe were murmuring that this may be the last Festival for a while. If things with the Unicron tribes continued like they were, anyway.

His history lesson glossed over most of the rising threat, instead focusing on talking up the various fun aspects of the Festival though. Everything from singing, to dancing, to watching mechs meet and greet old friends. Though the tribes were often separated, they all treasured one another, and this festival was where they all showed their best. All conflicts, cares, and concerns were put aside in favor of pure fun.

“I wanna dance.” Pipes muttered, optics flickering as sleep threatened to take him. Soon he’d need to ride in one of the wagons--though Rung himself may give in and carry him for a time. Two sparklings weren't too difficult to juggle. At least, not when both were asleep!

Abruptly Riptide gave a dramatic yawn, eliciting a chuckle from Rung. He carefully adjusted his one handed hold--and in doing so, nearly missed the first warning that something had gone wrong.

Nature's abrupt, sudden silence.

A hush quickly rippled through the tribe, falling just as silent as their surroundings. Rung stilled, cutting a glance upwards to Ratchet. Their tribe’s medic was atop one of the three wagons they had brought, his equine technobeasts having come to a sudden halt.

Even they were still, which attributed to the flutter of panic Rung felt in his fuel tank.

He remained where he was. Pious Pool was a small tribe, but they had more than one fearsome warrior in their midst. Rung knew he would be well defended should anything go awry.

As would the sparklings.

One hand squeezed Pipes', the other splaying flat against Riptides thigh, both to hold him in place and warn him should he wake. All the tribes young knew to be quiet at times like these, but even the most fearsome warrior could wake up with a yowl if properly startled.

He lost track of how long they remained frozen. Long enough for even Ratchet’s technobeasts to grow impatient, one angrily stamping a hoof. The medic hushed them, murmuring calming words, optics caught on something ahead.

When he sighed in relief, Rung did too.

“It looks to be another tribe’s scouts.” Ratchet said, loud enough for those around him to hear. “Trailbreaker and Seaspray has been sent to greet them.”

Low murmurs started at that--that wasn’t the traditional way one Cybertronian tribe greeted another _at all._ But the times had changed, and they must change with them.

Even if no one liked it.

A call rang out moments later, the tribes announcer shouting that one of their neighboring tribes, Kaon, would be joining them. 

Worry quickly morphed into excitement, as the two tribes slowly came together. The noise returned as the threat passed, the volume of chatter growing as the two tribes merged. 

Kaon was another nomadic tribe, though they preferred to stay within the mountains. Their members often could not make the trek to the central lands for the Festival due to poorer weather, a loss many felt. That they had made it this year was not only a pleasant surprise, but their timing would allow both tribes to travel the remaining way to the Festival together.

Even though Rung himself didn’t know anyone within the tribe, he was happy for his tribemates who did, and remained excited to potentially make a few friends himself. 

Which he would--provided he hung around Ratchet.

The grumpy old medic seemed to have a friend in every tribe and sure enough, a grizzly mech named Ironhide promptly appeared, just in time for both tribes to decide they finally wanted to bed down.

“We’re all going to be exhausted by the time we get to the Festival.” Ratchet grumbled, swinging into the process of bedding his technobeasts down, only to jerk forward when Ironhide’s friendly shoulder smack proved so powerful it about sent the mech sprawling.

“I think even you can get up enough energy to still enjoy it!” Ironhide chuckled, while Ratchet playfully faked a glare, the two mechs working in tandem to get the harnesses off the beasts backs. 

Rung smiled with them, though the noise had finally startled Riptide awake. The sparkling, barely a few vorns old, let out a couple of upset noises.The orange mech comforted him gently, before whisking him and Pipes off to find both sparklings carriers. 

Pious Pool's members often tended to be small, if slimmer mechs, while Kaon's towered as tall as their beloved mountains. Ratchet stood out, but Ratchet was a transplant from another tribe, who had decided a while ago he had wanted to "retire" to a tribe that lived in a better climate than his past one had. Personally, Rung thought he was running from something, but that was old drama. Not something one brought up in polite conversation, and certainly not something anyone wished to bring up now.

Particularly since the sparklings knew Ratchet, wherein they did not know anyone from another tribe, and could potentially be troubled by them. 

Finding the carriers didn't take long, nor did saying his goodnights to the two little mechs. The walk back derailed him a touch, if only because he caught himself talking to many more of his tribemates, wishing them a good recharge and politely nodding through introductions to some of Kaon's mechs. 

By the time he’d made it back to the small fire Ironhide and Ratchet were sharing, they were deep into a conversation, one that seemed to center around Ratchet and a quickly retreating Drift. 

Rung raised an optic-ridge at the youngling--and the heat pouring off his face. Drift hesitated when he saw Rung, but quickly shut it in order to hastily rush past him. 

Behind him, Ironhide openly laughed.

"Think you have an admirer, Ratch." He teased, as Rung eased himself down by the red mech. "Cute one too." 

Smile ticking into something devilish, Ironhide cheekily added; "Think I agree with that he'd be a good match for ya." 

Optics rolling, Ratchet blasted air through his vents. "Kids vorns younger than me." He said dismissively. "Not even in his adult frame yet." 

Ironhide made a dismissive noise of his own. "Are those vorns gonna matter later in life?" He fired back. "Most mechs get their adult frames when they hit their half century. They ain't as young as we pretend they are nd most of 'em have had plenty of little romances by the time they do finally get their adult frames. Why do you think they all go right into courting their first Festival?" Ironhide leaned back, crossing his arms, as though just waiting to bat down Ratchet's next argument. 

He threw Rung a can you believe this look, which Rung was all too ready to ignore. Mates was a topic Rung preferred to avoid, even if it was fun to see Ratchet get hell for it for once!

“I’m jus’ saying, you are well past due for it.” Ironhide prodded, ignoring the annoyed (though clearly tolerant) look on Ratchet’s face.

“Other people can have my time.” Ratchet said, his optics still on Rung. The orange mech caught the mischievous look on the medic's face, and knew immediately that he was about to be thrown to the turbo-wolves . “People like Rung here. This is the third festival where he can be properly courted, after all."

The medic got a flat look from his tribemate's for his efforts, as Ironhide turned his attention to the smaller mech. 

 “Oh?” The Kaonnite said, as he did so, “For some reason I thought you were much older!”

Rung shrugged. “Everyone does.” He said.

“Got yer optic on anyone special?”

“Ah--well. No.” Rung gave his own tight smile. He had hoped Ironhide would pick up on his reluctance to discuss this, but was, as he often was when it came to discussing mates, unlucky.

Not that he had thought he’d have much of a chance with Ratchet sitting right there anyway.

“Cute little thing like you? I bet you’d be scooped up in an instant!” Ironhide continued.

“Oh there’s been interest in him.” Ratchet said, smirking. “He’s just turned it down.”

That caught Ironhide’s interest, interested. "An' why's that? Didn't like 'em?"

“It was more complicated than that." The smaller mech dodged, knowing he wasn't getting out of this conversation now. "Swerve was clearly interested in Skids and they made a better pairing. I didn’t want to get in their way.”

“Nonsense.” Ratchet snorted, but amazingly enough, dropped it, which to Rung, was as good as admitting he was right.

Which he was. 

It didn’t hurt. Not anymore.

The thing was; Rung just--wasn’t sure he _wanted_ to participate. He had in the past and it had been fine. He’d had some interest even! It just…

It was hard to explain, the way he felt his own self confidence dip. How how doubted what he’d bring into a partnership--doubted how much value he really had. It wasn’t that he wasn’t good at anything--he was confident in his own abilities plenty. Loved plenty, among his tribe.

It came more from comparing himself to others. Seeing what everyone else had to offer, and then looking at what he did. Put bluntly, others did better when paired up with one another, and he was perfectly fine knowing that.

It was other people who weren’t.

So he avoided it, and everything that had to do with mating. There were better matches for everyone out there, and someone had to watch all the sparklings during the festival anyway. Rung had no problems taking that position.

The Festival wasn't made just for courting mechs, after all!

Even if watching some of the younger mechs gave him a pang of longing, or giving some of the younger sparklings back to their carriers a feeling of quiet despair. Those feelings were just a part of life, something Rung was determined to ignore.

“Just you wait, Rung.” Ratchet said, clicking his glossa. “You can try and hide from it all you want, but one day, love will get you too.”

Rather than argue, Rung just smiled.

xXx

“Rwuuuuung.” A high pitched voice giggled, calling directly into the orange mech’s audio. “Rwuu _~uung!”_

Pretending to sleep, Rung gave a dramatic yawn, prompting a surge of laughter from the entire herd of sparklings surrounding him, with more than one deeper laugh from some of the younglings watching nearby.

The mountain tribe’s younger members had finally found him.

“Oh, did I fall asleep?” Rung asked, pretending to awaken with a stretch.

He got a chorus of “Yes’s!” followed by one sparkling proclaiming; “How can you fall asleep _walking!?”_

Rung just gave him a smile and a shrug.

Since he himself had hit his adult forms, Rung had quickly discovered he had an aptitude for caring for the younger members of his tribe. From mechs just into their adult frames all the way down to the youngest of sparklings, all were drawn to him.

Jokingly, parents often told Rung he was cursed with a sparkling attracting magnet.

He found it to be a blessing though, and thus, was not remotely surprised when Kaon’s younger members seemed drawn towards him too. He’d been told more than once his gentle nature and lean stature made him appeal to the younglings and sparklings--both as a caregiver and just as someone fun to hang out with.

“They know you care.”  His Chief had told him once, and Rung had shone at the praise. “That’s why they seek you out. They trust you.”

It was something he treasured. Teaching the basics of life to the younger members, from language to the written word was something he highly enjoyed, as was the tribal traditions, their technologies, and general way of life. It felt like a calling, and rather than fight it, Rung accepted it with open arms. 

“So long as they don’t bother you!” One of Kaon’s elders said, laughing as a sparkling did it’s best to climb atop Rung’s head. Rung quickly bent forward, twisting so that the mechling would slide right off and into his arms.

“They never do.” He replied happily, hefting the giggling mechling upright.

Once a few mechlings had realized Rung wouldn’t chase them away, the rest were quickly on him and within the hour Rung found himself carrying one sparkling on his shoulder and another in his arm while a number of younglings chattered at him, most asking him what his opinion of this or that was.

“”Do you have any Festival stories?” One asked, as the more rambunctious mechs ran around playing an advanced game of tag.

“A few.” Rung said playfully, right before successfully dodging a flying pair of grappling younglings.

“Oh! What about love stories!?” Another piped up.

“None of those. I can tell a friends love story though…” Rung trailed off, waiting for the excited exclamations to continue before he did.

A whistle shot through the air before he could, the signal that they’d made it to the next planned rest stop. Coming over the hill, Rung quickly took in the chosen rest area--a small fiber-grass flat leading up to the edges of a calm, teal lake.  The kind you could touch and play in, rather than the acidic type some of the other areas could get.  

Something he didn’t even have to relate, as apparently, some of the older younglings already knew the color meant it was safe. With a yowl, one of Kaon’s went charging into the water--the rest following as soon as they realized their playmate’s intent.

The sparklings weren’t as eager, but slowly--with many glances at Rung for reassurance--headed down too.

Rung followed last, making his way to a downed crystal spire to sit upon. The younger mechs might have all the energy to play during a rest period, but he certainty didn’t!

From the log, Rung could take them all in better. Kaon had more young than Pious Pools did, and they had all swarmed after the two tribes had resumed their journey. As a result, the orange mech hadn’t quite had time to put all the faces to names, nor to truly look at each one as an individual. Doing so now allowed him to spot what he hadn’t before--a mech shadowing him.

Red optics tracked Rung’s every move, a slight frown painted across a slate grey face. and for the briefest of moments, Rung thought he was being judged by an elder of the second tribe.

 But no--movements, graceful but still a little gangly, proved the mech as a youngling himself, though one likely older than the sparklings who were slowly making their way back up the hill to him. 

It could be hard to guess the ages of younglings. The one edging around him could have been about to accept his adult frame or barely into his youngling one--Rung wouldn't know. He'd learned not to guess, no matter the appearance. If he had to though, he'd say this one was definitely on the older side.

You could always tell, by the way they held themselves.

 Just as it was easy to tell when one was more serious or mature than the others. The king of young mech who had a destiny. Whether that destiny had been given by the tribe or by someone else, Rung didn't know, but the way the grey mech moved, gaze flicking from Rung to the mechs below and back, was protective. Considering. The next time that weighted gaze hit Rung, he decided to address it. 

Playfully, Rung turned to him and winked.

Surprise immediately flashed across the others face.

Rather than call out to him though, Rung turned away. He called a greeting to the sparklings who'd finally made it back up the hill, moving everyone around so that he could help them find a place to rest upon or around the log. Not that many of the younger mechs _would_ rest--little energy filled turbo bunnies that they were. Likewise, Pious Pools two younglings--Drift and Springer, had made fast friends with the other, older younglings of Kaon’s tribe and started a game of tag. 

He watched for a moment, careful to make sure all were getting along as the game grew more competitive. This took his attention off the mysterious youngling and so, when the mech abruptly appeared in front of Rung, he nearly fell off the log. 

“Hello!” He said, a bit louder than normal, morphing the surprise into a smile.

“Greetings.” The youngling responded, looking down at him. Rung didn't get up, not with sparklings under pede, but he had the oddest urge to do it to this mech.

Particularly with how serious the mech's field was. 

“My designation is Megatron.” The youngling said, sticking out a hand. Rung shook it, pretending not to notice how his own hand was dwarfed by thick, grey servos.

“Rung.” He returned, surprised at the gentle grip. 

Megatron nodded once, as though storing this information, before releasing Rung’s hand and moving to rest besides him, careful of the sparklings.   
Immedatly, they began to swarm him too. 

“If anyone bothers you, let me know.” Megatron added gravely, eyeing the other younglings, whose game of tag had morphed into a full blown wrestling match.

“Thank you.” Rung responded. “Though I believe we'll be alright.”  The sparklings climbing about him had frozen still, enchanted when Drift managed to get the drop on a Kaon youngling named Hot Rod, sending the red mech crashing into the water. Anticipating what they were about to do, Rung loosened his hold on the mechling in his lap. 

Sure enough, once Drift struck a victory pose over his opponent, the sparklings shot forwards.

“Hey no fair!” He yelped, as the smaller mechs tackled him, bringing him to his knees in the water. “ _Ooof,_ get off!”

Megatron’s frown had dissipated, but it threatened to return as he watched his fellow clanmates roll around in the water. A world weary sigh quietly slipped out of him, and Rung had to do his best to choke back his laugh.

Such behavior, from one younger than he was!

He got a sharp look in return, proving his attempt at hiding his chuckles had completely failed.

“They’re having too much fun.” Megatron said seriously, and this time, Rung did laugh.

“Certainly not.” Rung replied, curling in on himself until his elbows rested on his lap, and his hands supported his chin. “They’re simply gearing up for the Festival. We do hold it so we can have fun.”

“Do we?” Megatron murmured, gaze drifting back to the play-fighting.

“Of course. As well as showing off a bit.” Rung took a chance and nudged the younglin playfully.

Unsurprisingly, Megatron’s didn’t move an inch.

“Showing what off? Rough-housing?” Megatron said, disdain dripping from his voice.

“Sparring, yes.” Rung agreed. “But also trade crafts and arts. Oral stories, sand art, costumes, poetry--”

“Poetry?” Megaton interrupted,  turning back to face Rung.

“Oh yes. Mechs have competitions for it even. Try to make up the best poems on the spot, or team up with a mech from a different tribe to come up with a few works by the end of the Festival. Some of them are rather delightful.” Rung said, pretending to be oblivious to the laser focus attention he’d suddenly gained. Internally he was pleased with himself. It wasn’t often easy to break through a tough youngling’s shell--not that he had, with Megatron. Not just yet. 

If the intense look was anything to go by he was at least on the right track!

“Do you happen to have an example?” Megatron asked, after a moment of hesitation. “Or perhaps know one of the poems, if you don’t mind reciting it?”

The eagerness was oh so carefully buried, but unmistakable.

Carefully, allowed himself to grin.

In a flash he was fishing through one of his various compartments for the datapad he knew he had. Datapad’s weren’t new inventions, but they also hadn’t really been updated since their creation. A mech’s processor really was the best way to keep track of things, and thus oral stories and traditions were much more popular than any outside pad.

But they had their uses, and small bursts of information--such as poetry--certainly made their way to them.

“Here we go.” He hummed as he finally pulled the thin pad out, handing it over to the grey youngling. “This has about fifty or so poems on it, showcasing all of the different types. Give it a look.”

After a nod and a quiet thanks, Megatron did just that, politely powering the pad on and flicking through the pages.

Rung caught the moment the younger mech stopped scanning and started reading--and the subsequent moment when he became completely and totally absorbed.

The orange mech did his best not to be smug about it. (though he might have failed at that too.) 

xXx

 

There was a lot of odd things in life.

A youngling reading while walking and accomplishing both easily, was Rung’s oddity of the day. 

To be fair, Megatron was stuck right at Rung’s elbow, clearly using the elder mech to guide him from his peripheral vision as he walked--and he was rather easy to spot, with the orange plating.

“Gained a shadow huh?” Seaspray joked, when Megatron unconsciously mimicked a strange movement Rung made to avoid an uprooted crystal.

“Oh no.” Rung jokingly protested. “I might have gained a friend though!”

Megatron, who’d been pretending not to listen to the conversation, looked up at that, as though startled Rung hadn't agreed with the shadow joke. He quickly ducked back into the datapad, the motions so quick many mechs would've missed it.

Many mechs were not Seaspray though. The boat grinned, but took pity and didn't comment on it.

Neither did Rung.

xXx

 

“Rung?” Megatron asked, well into the second night. “Have you read these?”

They were bedding down, though Rung was entirely unsurprised to watch Megatron flop down next to him when the time came, rushing through the motions until he could get back to the datapad.

“Yes.” Rung responded, looking over the specific poems displayed on the datapad facing him. “Do you have questions about them?”

“Yes and no.” Megatron said, finally looking away from the datapad. “If--” He hesitated, but seeing Rung’s gentle smile, braved on. “If you’re alright with it, I’d love to discuss some of these with you.”

Rung beamed. “Certainly!” He replied, happy to indulge.

Two hours later, Rung finally convinced Megatron to get some sleep, on the grounds they could talk more in the morning, about whatever piece of poetry they wished.

“Bet you regret offering him that.” Kup teased later the next day, after Megatron had immediately restarted the conversation once he and Rung had woken up.

“Not at all.” Rung told the Kaon elder. “I’ve been greatly enjoying the conversation. He’s made a few excellent points.”

“If you say so, mech.” Kup snickered, but Rung merely took it in stride. He really did enjoy the conversations he’d had with Megatron thus far. Teaching him was a joy, and the grey youngling was picked things up fast enough that often teaching simply devolved into more of a discussion. 

It wasn’t the first time he’d acted as a bit of a teacher either, though he wasn’t the best poet. He knew enough to get Megatron started, and by the end of the second day, the mech had vacated his chosen place at Rung’s shoulder in favor of flopping down and immediately begin writing once the tribes had stopped for the night. 

After insuring the youngest sparklings had made it back to their carriers, Rung dropped a hand on Megatron’s shoulder and squeezed once, then bent down to let him know he was stepping towards the back of the caravan for a bit. Knowing the mech, even as distracted as he was, would keep an optic on the younger mechs piled close by. Rung felt safe leaving them in Megatron’s hands, knowing the would-be poet would step in and effectively fix any problems should one arise. Something he'd done before, much to all of Pious Pool's amazement. 

“Amazing, to see you without the shadow!” Kup teased once more, as Rung made an appearance by Ratchet's fire.

“I think Rung’s got him working on poetry, of all things.” Ratchet said with a laugh. “No doubt he’ll go right back to pestering once he’s done with it!”

“Oh,” Rung said, blinking. “No, he hasn’t been a pest at all! In fact, I think he’s rather destined to it.” He had meant to learning poetry, but the red mech seated on Ratchet’s other side dramatically rolled his optics.

“He’s destined alright.” Ironhide said, with a playful sigh. “Though he did it to himself. Mech  wants to be Chief.” He chuckled, but it was clear that it was fond rather than dismissive.

“Does he stand a good chance at it?” Ratchet asked, curious. Each tribe tended to have their own traditions on to how a Chief was chosen, though the role was all the same.

Leader. Protector. Councillor and warrior.

The tribes best and brightest star.

“Oh yes.” The red warrior said, a twinkle in his optics that spoke of remembered events. “Those his age and below already consider him to be the Chief in training. And I’ll let you in on a little secret...” The mech trailed off as he leaned forward, and dutifully, Rung , Ratchet and even Kup bowed their heads as well.

“Several of us older mechs consider him so as well.”

“He is a rather strict youngling though. If you can get him to cut loose a bit Rung, we’d all thank you." Kup added, after snickering. "Don't how much longer the kids got to enjoy his youth.” That caused all the smiles to twist ever so slightly, and the topic of conversation turned to a hushed one about the growing threats on the other side of the mountains. The Kaon tribe would be the first to face any of Unicron’s tribes should they attempt to cross the mountains, and so, they had the most news regarding any threat.

Though most every tribe was nomadic, all of them tended to have their preferences in territory, and Kaon had long preferred to stay up in the mountain range--much like how Pious Pools preferred to stick near the coastline. They moved always, but they stuck to their patterns and known areas.

It was there way.

Rung frowned more and more as he listened, until finally, Ratchet was able to turn the tides of the conversation to something else. 

If things really were as bad as Ironhide said they were, well.

Rung would do his best to give Megatron a few moments of happiness.

xXx

 

“You’re overthinking it.” Rung teased, the next morning. “Don’t criticize yourself so much.”

Megatron didn’t respond, instead narrowing his gaze at the poem he was struggling with.

“The important thing is to keep at it.” Rung said, patting the grey mech’s knee. “A poem may frustrate you enough for you to need to get away from it for a moment, but so long as you don’t get rid of it, you can always come back to it.” He chuckled at the skeptical look Megatron threw his way, then leaned forward to pull something out of his sub-space.

“Here.” He said, offering the new datapad to the mini-Chief. “This one is much larger than the one you have--it will be able to create and store thousands of poems and stories.”

Crimson optics widened, as Megatron hesitantly took the gift. “I can’t except this.” He said, staring at it.

Rung waved a hand dismissively. “Nonsense. I have no reason to keep it, and you can transfer the poems from the smaller pad onto it, as well as create your own.”

He held the pad out, until, hesitantly, Megatron took it.

“Thank you.” He said sincerely, holding the pad as if it were precious.

“Of course.” Rung said back. It was something he'd been thinking of all night. How to capture that small bit of wonder, how to keep Megatron practicing poetry, or at least keep a memento, even if he eventually lost interest. 

For the remainder of the journey, Rung didn’t once see Megatron without the datapad. A feat, considering that Megatron remained close, writing or reading when not engaging Rung in conversation.

The dedication the younger mech showed was impressive enough for Rung to wish he almost had a second datapad to give him, if only because it was clear Megatron might very well be one of the first mechs to ever fill up the first.

Rung hoped he would.

xXx

It took all the way to the third night for both tribes to reach the Festival.

Megatron’s vents caught as they came over the last hill. Rung was waiting for it, savoring the look on his face, before casting his own gaze down the hill.

It was magical.

The view was gorgeous enough to punch every time. To fill mechs of every age with a feeling of magic and and more than a bit of wonder. Fires cast reflections in wide optics, as they all gathered on the last hilltop, staring down at the massive Festival grounds. After a moment to take it in, the tribe Chiefs urged them forward. They descended the hill as a group, both tribes walking together, across the flatland, towards the circular encampment.

Torches and small camp-fires cast shadows on a number of makeshift stages that spiraled out in circles, each circle seperated by tents, wagons, decorations and more. Each circle growing wider and wider, all of it centered on the massive, central fire. 

The entire effect was a festival area large enough to be its own small city. For mechs used to traveling, used to seeing only a tribe or two at a time, seeing so many of them in once place was overwhelming. Spiritual, even. 

Like for a moment, they were all one.

Wallking into camp was always an experience, as everyone's conversations and sparks seeming to intertwine. Likewise, Megatron walked next to him with the same struck expression--though he recovered much faster than any of the other younglings had.

It never mattered how many times you'd been here before. The first look at the Festival was always going to leave you awestruck. 

The Chiefs lead both tribes to the center, were they checked in with the tribe chosen to host the Festival this year. Quickly both were directed to where they could set up their camps--and it wasn’t lost on either group that they were the last two tribes to arrive. Meaning the “circle” of the encampment could be complete--and the Festival could truly begin.

The feeling of urgency grew as  both tribes moved to settle down for the week, though no one rushed. Expert hands guided the tents to their places, moving things this way and that (even if Rung and a few others had to remind some of the younger mechlings to stay close and help.)  

There was no need to rush. There was plenty of time for everything--even if some of their younger members didn’t believe it.

Megatron, saw some of the younger sparklings in his tribe misbehaving and quickly set off to correct them, the low timber of his murmuring heard even though his words weren’t.

Rung stifled a laugh as the scolded sparklings hung their heads, respecting Megatron as much as any elder. Of which of course Megatron technically was--but it was still humorous seeing someone so young take something so _seriously._

Within moments, the grey mech had quickly gathered the rest of the elder younglings, and tasked them with a set of orders, helping unload their medic’s tent.

A leader that one was, indeed.

Rung turned his own focus to his tasks, helping set up the tent he shared with some of the other mechs, and then moving on to their own medic. Ratchet gave him an appreciative glance, wordlessly handing Rung bottles and jars off the wagon to be placed inside his tent.

The pace was quickly set, and Rung was almost surprised when Ratchet nudged him as he took the last set up bottles.

“You don’t _have_ to do anything this year.” The medic murmured, “But I think this might be a good year to try.” He didn't specify what to try for, but then he didn't need to. 

Ratchet hadn't pushed harder this year than usual, for Rung to try and get a mate. 

“Maybe.” Rung ceded, said after a moment, casting his gaze aside. A quiet, serious moment passed between them--the manifestation of Rung's reluctance, parried with the unspoken desire Ratchet had to see him mated. Or rather--happy.

The orange mech just didn't know how to explain that mating wasn't the way he'd be happy. Not when he had as many doubts about himself as he did. 

“Keep saying maybe Rung, and one day you’ll run out of time.” Ratchet said. It was something he'd said many times before, but this time he wasn't joking. This time his voice was heavy, as though revealing a regret of his own. 

“I know.” Rung said, but kept his gaze down.

He had expected this. Expected Ratchet to be serious, even/  The Festival was a place for everything. For talents of all kinds to show themselves, for unity and peace and prosperity. It was also the only time every tribe was together--which meant it was _thee_ place to scout for perspective mates. Flirting, courting, and even the ancient tradition of mate-knapping was common--all of it made more playful and fun when taking place in the glow of the Festival's fires.

This was the third. festival Rung was of age to be approached for those activities. Of age to be courted properly.

He wouldn’t be, and that was fine.

It _really_ was fine, too! Rung knew his place in life, in the tribes. He was the caretaker, the person who helped raise sparklings and helped teach younglings. Helping was his calling--and he liked that. He didn’t need a mate to be fulfilled.

The longing pangs he felt when he looked at couples, the fact that the sparklings he watched over would eventually return to the loving arms of their parents...it stung. But many things in life stung. Rung simply allowed those hurts as they came, accepted them, and let them blow away.

“You had interest, at the last festival.” Ratchet continued, as though they hadn’t stopped talking. Rung winced. He didn’t really want to talk about this, but there was no avoiding it. Ratchet knew him too well--enough to read that deeply buried desire for what it was, when it appeared on Rung’s face.

“I did.” Rung acknowledged, because it was true. He had been pursued, even though it had been briefly. By a warrior no less, someone highly valued in every tribe’s community.

That in and of itself, was part of his issue.

How did you explain to your close friend it wasn’t that there wasn’t people interested, it was that Rung himself had nothing worthwhile to bring to a relationship? Sure he was valued for his advice and his caregiver skills--within his tribe. Things anyone could give really. Things that may very well weigh down a smaller tribe, or be lost in a larger one.

No, the fact was, Rung wasn’t comfortable with the courting. Didn’t think he was worth it.

Ratchet would disagree, but Ratchet was a lifelong friend. There just wasn’t a good way for Rung to explain it, his aversion to dating.

Ratchet stared at him a moment, before chuckling. “You can’t hide from love, Rung. It’ll catch you, sooner or later.”

Rung “Mmhmm’d” politely.

Love wasn’t looking for him after all. Nor was he hiding from it. No they were simply cordial friends who would never be more, and Rung was fine with that.

Perfectly, totally fine.

The tent flap moved, as a grey head poked it’s way in, breaking the tension.

“Rung?” Megatron called, and Rung turned, pained frown dissolving into a small smile.

“Would you like to go explore the festival with me?” He asked, optics only for Rung.

Nodding, Rung moved towards him. “Of course--if we are all done, Ratchet?” He asked, turning to the medic.

Who was hiding a knowing smirk behind a hand he raised too slowly. “We are. Go on, go enjoy.” Ratchet said. 

Rung narrowed his optics at him, but followed Megatron out of the tent.

The shadow jokes weren’t going away anytime soon,  he could feel it.

xXx

 

A mech grunted, twisting his body down as he and his opponent clashed. Megatron had paused, staring at the two warriors as they clashed in the sparring pits, and Rung mentally prepared to stay for a while when the younger mech seemed drawn in by the show. They had only explored a few sections of the Festival so far, though Rung wasn't surprised that the dirt pits marked by chalk that acted as the sparring pits had been the first thing to truly pique Megatron's interest. They watched three matches, the same mech winning all three--before the mini-Chief shook his head and quietly asked Rung if it was alright if they explored more. 

Surprised--all the younglings were typically drawn to the sparring pits--Rung agreed, and soon, they had circled around until something else had stopped Megatron dead. 

A pile of wood created one of the smaller stages, lit softly by torches. The atmosphere was more intimate, geared so that small groups of mechs could hear a speaker or singer.  

The current mech onstage was reciting poetry, 

“You should share some of yours.” Rung said, leaning up to catch the grey mech’s audios, as they settled in to watch.

Megatron startled. “They’re not finished.” He said, but the protest was more considering than not.

“So?” Rung questioned, standing next to the youngling, trying not to focus on how much smaller he was next to the mech. If anything, Rung was the one acting as a shadow! “This is a creative space, one where we all can share whatever we have.”

Megatron considered that, with the same weight he seemed to consider everything. “I suppose.” He said finally, politely nodding to the next mech stepping up to the stage as the first finished his reading. “I think I would want to share a finished product, though.”

Not one to give up easily--particularly since he’d been watching the younger mech closely and could practically see his desire to get on stage, Rung kept prodding. “How about making a shorter poem then?”

“What would I write about?” Megatron countered, tone even as always. The careful consideration he gave the conversation--the same he always gave-lent him the appearance of being far older than he was, and it was easy to forget his age in moment's like these. The way he muted his emotions, compared to the way others his age seemed to explode with them. 

They were still there though, those emotions. 

One could see it, if they looked.

It was that passion, Rung thought Megatron wanted to tap into, to channel into his poetry. He simply lacked a way to pull it out of himself. 

“Whatever you want.” Rung said simply. “Things that excite you, scare you. Things that you worry about or find curious.”

Megatron hummed again, this one sounding slightly more negative.

“Or you can look for something here, and see if anything can inspire you.” Rung added, if only so the younger mech had something else to grab onto.

The speaker on the stage cleared his throat abruptly, and just like that both mechs fell silent, so they could respectfully enjoy the performance put on before them.

Megatron listened, but a part of his processor wasn’t there. Instead he was scanning the crowds, looking for something that could create that spark.

He didn’t find a whole lot.

xXx

 

Megatron crossed out his fifteenth poem, growing frustrated.

The words just wouldn’t _work._

Writing sounded easy, but the reality was that it was a lot harder than he’d anticipated. Particularly since Megatron didn’t want to show off just anything. The poems he’d loved the most were _passionate_ \--it was clear their authors had something they wanted to convey. That they wanted their words felt, not just heard.

He wanted that for his own poems, too.

A delighted shriek ripped through the night. Startled, Megatron looked up to watch as one mech scooped up another, throwing him over his shoulder.  

“Matenapper!” Yelled a third mech, who had been walking with the first. He was laughing though, and was making no moves to defend or save his friend. “Quick, someone help!”

“Interfere with Chromedome and Rewind’s courting?!” An unknown voice cried out, also laughing. “Are you insane? They’ve been all over each other for years!”

Megatron watched, fascinated, as the smaller mech--Rewind? Gave a few half sparked struggles, while his captor slowed his pace, almost as if to show off the mech on his shoulder.

He knew what matenapping was of course. Just as he’d been told about laying a claim on a mech.

The more traditional way to show interest in a mate,  it involved completing a task or giving a gift. Should they accept the claim, the courting mech was given a period of three days to prove themselves and woo the mech they liked.

If they were successful, they mated. If unsuccessful, the courted mech made it clear they were still available, and someone else could try and lay a claim.

“It’s not as easy as that.” Rung had said, when Megatron had asked him about it.“But it’s close enough.”

The grey mech hadn’t cared to ask what could be hard about it--it seemed rather straightforward to him. He knew Rung would explain further if asked, the orange mech always did. Always treated Megatron like an equal, even when some mech’s loved to flaunt their elder status.

Rung was different though. From anyone Megatron had ever met.

Not for the first time, Megatron wondered why no one seemed to be courting Rung. So far as he could tell, Rung wasn’t mated--and easily one of the best options out there for a mate.

He would know, all the mate claims and flirtations going on around him had caused Megatron to consider his own future-mate. The Chief of a tribe had to have one of course. Something he knew, but just.

Hadn’t considered.

Not really. Not before the Festival.

Megatron had spent some time, in-between struggling with poem, trying to think on the best possible qualities for his mate. Someone calm, certainly. Someone who never made anyone feel bad. Who could be the voice of reason when things got out of hand.

He’d even started a list of desired traits, alongside the poem he was struggling to write. He’d finally landed on his topic, choosing to try and tap into all the passions flying around him.

Love poems weren’t easy.

Listing all the things Megatron wanted in a mate proved to be much easier.

 _Trustworthy. Calm. Respected._ He wrote.  _A person with an amazing amount of inner strength. One who could easily be the pillar of the tribe._

Megatron’s gaze wandered to Rung as he wrote more and more traits, his hand moving almost mindlessly. The elder mech was at a tent a bit farther down from the fire he was seated in front of, happily in discussion with an old friend from another tribe. 

_Well loved. Strong. Gentle. Caring._

 A few more word were typed in, unseen as Megatron continued to watch Rung. Almost entranced, by the way the firelight struck his plating. Made it _glow._

_Compassionate. Elegant. Easy to be around._

Megatron glanced down, to look over his growing list--and abruptly sucked in a vent.

Sitting innocently in the middle of the list, was Rung’s name.

He looked at it, then back up towards the mech himself, Rung's name intertwining with both the half-finished love poem, and the list discussing Megatron's ideal mate.

Turned over the idea of Rung as his mate, specifically.

It...fit.

It fit so well it Megatron briefly thought he was an idiot for not seeing it immediately. Because Rung wasn’t just one of the best available mates, he was the best mate for Megatron _himself._

It made the perfect amount of sense. Rung was trustworthy with sparklings and did his best to understand their problems no matter how small. He treated everyone as equals, teaching what he could whenever he could while doing his best not to make anyone feel bad or stupid. He was well liked, deeply respected, cared for, smart, attractive…

 _That_ all came with the shattering realization that Megatron was still an entire vorn away from his upgrades, and wouldn’t be able to participate in the claims or mating until the next Festival.

An _entire five vorns in the future._

That was a _huge_ amount of time for Rung to be courted by someone else. The more Megatron thought about it, the more panicked he became. He had barely decided on this, barely thought it through for more than an hour, but time seemed to suddenly be against him.

Life changing decisions were often made fast. That’s what the Kaon elders always said. But he himself had never truly made one without careful consideration!

Rung just--felt right.

 _Was_ right!

The realizations hit one after another, concerns fighting against feelings. 

After what seemed like hours (but couldn't have been) he had his conclusion. 

This wasn’t something he could let go.

Megatron knew what he was up against--people thinking it was cute, or a crush of some kind, but this was the future of the tribe he was considering here. To let Rung get away without at least announcing some form of intention, or worse, letting Rung enter a courtship just--couldn’t be tolerated. 

Chest tightening, Megatron scrambled to think of a way to keep Rung. It was selfish, but sometimes things were. Besides, Rung had waited this long hadn’t he? He could wait five vorns to be mated. Particularly when he himself appeared to have no interest in mating anyone of his current age!

No. Megatron had convinced himself.

This was apart of the future.

He just had to insure it!

His optics flicked back, one more time to the list, then over to the love poem.

Answers came fast--and with them, a chance. 

One Megatron was determined to take, even if it meant turning himself inside and out for a love poem. 

xXx

 

New performers always drew a crowd.

Younger mechs even more so, and Rung wasn’t surprised to see an even larger than usual crowd surrounding the stage Megatron was set to read his poetry piece off of.

A good majority of the crowd was his tribe--more than one mech had congratulated or thanked Rung on drawing their quieter youngling out of his shell.

“Plus it’s going to be _adorable.”_ Ratchet said, to a murmured round of agreement.

“I’ve been watchin’ that one this whole Festival.” A mech who’d introduced himself as Jazz added, joining the crowd with two companions. “Kid’s got an almost regal air to him, you gotta admit. I wanna see how that translates to his poetry.”  

Cheers sounded as Megatron’s time came, and the mech finally took to the stage.

The grey youngling eyed them all as he came forward, waiting calmly for the crowd to quiet down. Night was well under way, but the various torches and fires all caused shadows to ripple over the young poet’s frame.

For the briefest of seconds, Rung caught a glimpse into the mech Megatron would become.

Regal didn’t even cover it.

The moment passed quickly, as Megatron opened his mouth and took the plunge.

“It’s all I have to bring today--

This, and my spark beside--

This, and my spark, and all the fields—

And all the meadows wide—

Be sure you count—should I forget

Some one the sum could tell—

This, and my spark, and all the fields

Which in the crystals dwell.”

Though he had started with shoulders ever so slightly hunched, words rushing a bit with nerves, the poem clearly calmed him, and Rung watched as Megatron took a vent--and looked straight to him. From there he straightened as he read, his voice progressively becoming louder until the first part was over.

“Mechs.” Jazz said softly as Megatron pause. “You all hearing this?”

His companions nodded their heads.

“He’s got talent.” Murmured one, a small minibot. “Raw certainly, but talent.”

Rung could only agree. The briefest display of nerves was entirely over, as Megatron fell into rhythm. He started again, voice growing in power, and it was easy to imagine him booming over a tribe one day, acting as its leader.

“I hope you consider my words--

Today.

My words and my spark alongside--

I shouldn’t be asking you to wait--

Today.

I shouldn’t knock you astride.

But my spark, those fields, and all the worlds--

I can’t keep inside.”

Another pause as the second verse ended, the crowd entirely bespelled.

“It’s a love poem.” The little minibot said, a hand covering over the massive smile on his face.

“Think the little guy’s got a crush?” Jazz teased.

His other companion, a mech named Mirage, raised an optic ridge. “Are we looking at the same mech, Jazz? I wouldn’t call that one little.”

They quietly bantered for a minute more, but Rung couldn’t focus on their conversation.

No, Megatron was still looking dead at him, with the same, weighted gaze he’d had when they’d met a few days prior. It didn’t feel like a few days, anymore. It felt like he’d known the youngling for quite some time.

One slow vent, then another and another, and Megatron finally continued to the last verse, voice carrying over the crowd.

“I plead you take me seriously--

My words, my spark, these fields.

The crystals that hide true meanings--

Those feelings--

Of things I want to announce.”

The poem ended to a massive amount of applause, the small crowd doing their best to encourage the tribe’s newest poet. Megatron dipped into a slight bow, the same customary one all the other tribesmech’s used when dismissing themselves from the stage.

Rather than exit off the side however, he hopped right into the front of the crowd, making a beeline straight for Rung.

The orange mech waited, unsure of whether the youngling would like a hug or simply wanted Rung to escort him away quickly, if the attention was too much. Megatorn looked like he had thrived under the attention of the crowd, but one never really knew when it came to younger mechs.

Things could always change in an instant.

A determined look was painted across the younger mechs faceplates, staying there all the way until he had marched up to Rung. The crowd watched him, all of them instinctively seeming to know the show wasn’t over.

“I,” Megatron bellowed, taking the entire crowd aback by the sudden shift in his voice. “Megatron of the Kaon Tribe, am here to announce my intentions of courtship!”

That got the crowd’s attention alright. Mechs shushed one another, all of them trying to hear, and more than one joining the crowd to watch.

“Though I am a few vorns away from being able to lay a claim, I can make my intentions known today. As a sign of my interest, I wish to dedicate my poem to the mech I wrote it for!” Megatron continued, pointedly ignoring the cooes and “ _Aww’s-!_ ” that swept through the crowd.

“Rung of Pious Pools” He continued, staring deep into Rung’s optics--still uncovered by the glasses. “Will you accept my offer of the poem, and wait for me to be of age to court you?”

A wolf whistle shot through the air, given by a cheeky Jazz. It caused a burst of both delighted chuckles and low conversation about _how damn cute_ the whole thing was--which Rung himself did his best to ignore.

This _was_ adorable--and perhaps, the first time Rung didn’t regret being the center of attention. It was so hard to put into words his own hesitation towards courting. Why he felt unworthy, when he knew he was at least worth something.

Something to a youngling like Megatron.

But younglings made proclamations like this all the time. It was a moment he would treasure for the rest of his life, but it was by no means a promise of any kind. Not a real one.

But in this moment it was real, painfully so to Megatron, so Rung would treat it like it was for the moment, all the while keeping in the back of his processor that this was nothing more than five minutes of pretend.

A special moment, a shared moment absolutely--but Megatron would go back to the mountains at the end of this, and Rung to the beaches.

From there Megatron would no doubt forget this, if not Rung entirely. Or maybe he wouldn’t, but he’d remember the lessons he learned here in bravery and courage, and put it to use when he discovered his real mate.

Megatron was one vorn away from his adult frames after all--and there were plenty of potential mates just within the Kaon tribe alone.

For those five minutes though, Rung allowed himself to quiet his thoughts. Allowed himself to pretend.

"I accept." Rung said, to his own round of applause. "As my courting gift in the future though," He added playfully, tapping the datapad hanging loosely in one of Megatron's hands, "I request that you fill this datapad with your own poetry."

Megatron raised his chin, whole body seeming to accept this "challenge." "For you, I will." He promised. 

Rung gave in and gave him a hug. 

The larger youngling was slightly embaressed, but allowed the hug, awkwardly bending down to hug Rung back. It was brief--Rung knew Megatron didn't always enjoy being touched. But it was his moment, and he wanted to cement it in the kids head. Celebrate, even if it was just for the last few hours of the festival.

Which was exactly what they did. 

He wasn’t upset when the Festival finally ended, nor did he regret having to part with Megatron.

Waving the serious younger mech off, all Rung hoped was that Megatron could remember him, even if it was vaguely, and allow a friendly chat if he did.

Perhaps even, write him a poem. 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is chapter is so fluffy that I have jokingly been referring to this it as an angst palette cleanser. Almost waited until tomorrow because it is THAT fluffy. But ya'll have been waiting very patiently so up it goes!
> 
> As always thank you to my two betas! This chapter had a few bumps with scenes that I ended up having to rearrange, so thanks for sticking it out with me!
> 
> The short poem I based Megatron's off of this chapter doesn't have a known author (it's one of those popular poems that people probs ripped from a blog and slapped everywhere and I wasn't able to track it down) so my apologies to whomever the author is haha.

 

* * *

 

Three vorns later, the Unicron tribes attacked. War was declared.

Twenty two vorns after, it ended.

In-between the two dates?

Legends were born.

xXx

It had been a while since it all had ended.

People still didn’t feel safe. Many tribes had drastically changed their travel routes, and more than one didn’t feel comfortable moving beyond past certain points, let alone journeying to the flatlands. Even if it was for the first Festival that had been held since the war had begun. 

That didn’t stop others from wanting to go, particularly to celebrate life.

Both for both those that had been lost, and those that were still living.

In the end the Pious Pools tribe had been forced to put it to council. Let the elders and chosen council members decide if they should attend. The main issue was that the path to the Festival took them directly near where some of the worst fighting had occurred. A few of their warriors had been involved in some of the worst conflicts--and more than one hadn’t returned.

They were places of pain now.

Unicron’s tribes had been defeated. Their grab for power, and the strange way they claimed the land itself as though they could own it, was no longer a threat.

“This upcoming Festival isn’t just a celebration of the Cybertron tribes.” Chief Jetfire had proclaimed, loud enough that those outside of the council had heard it. “This is a celebration of those who died defending us, those who are now with us in spirit, and the lives we are now living in their honor!”

The speech had been enough to seal it.

The Pious Pools tribe was attending.

This time, the Mountain tribes did not meet them on the way there. Rumors flew that they may not attend--they hadn’t been seen for quite some time since the final round of the war.

This would be a Festival unlike any other though, and everyone knew it. Rung was positive every tribe would show up--even those that had secluded themselves in the aftermath of the war.

The reunion, and magic of the Festival was something Rung did his best to focus on--instead of how _pushy_ Ratchet was being!

“This is your year, mech.” The healer said, once again steering his wagon (the same one as all those years prior, though it had gone through many, many repairs.) “It’s time for you to stop putting yourself away.”

Rung ran a hand down his faceplates, trying to wipe the annoyance off his face while hoping the sparkling trotting happily at his side didn’t catch it.

He understood why Ratchet was pushing. All those years locked in a war; with their tribes warriors and healers often gone to help when the fighting came close too them. Some even transferred tribes entirely to lend their strengths to the fighting. He knew several mechs hadn’t thought they’d survive let alone win. So everyone was pushing this year. To do the things you never thought you’d get to do. To take advantage of the time they had. Make friends. Find a mate.

Live happily ever after.

Those hopes were hard to squash, so Rung did his best not to. He didn’t want to be the one to say he’d given up. Made peace with the fact that he just wasn’t cut out for any kind of romance. It wasn’t what Ratchet wanted to hear. It wasn’t what anyone wanted to hear, but it was the truth.

Once he’d accepted it, Rung had dedicated his life to the things he was good at. Raising sparklings, teaching, generally being one of the calmer stones in a sea of storms.

Even if he was a small stone.

“Get out of your comfort zone for once.” Ratchet continued. Rung listened politely, holding out a hand for the sparkling impatiently tugging on him. “You spend so much time the fragging kids people are starting to mistake you for one!”

“Language.” Rung corrected automatically, watching fondly as a few said kids trotted ahead of him, playing the new word game he’d taught them. “Besides, I think they appreciate it. Don’t you, Blades?”

The sparkling, who hadn’t paid an ounce of attention to the conversation, took his cue and excitedly shouted; “ _Yeah!”_

Ratchet snorted. “He'd appreciate a rock if you talked it up enough.” He said dismissively.

Rung winced, but recovered quickly enough to assure himself Ratchet--or Blades--hadn’t caught it. The medic was right of course, anyone could entertain the younger mechs.

He just thought he was the best at it.

“I just hate how much you dismiss yourself, mech.” Ratchet added. “Anybody would be lucky to have you.”

That was an argument they’d had before, and one Rung wasn’t willing to rehash right this second. Thankfully he was saved by Blade’s optics narrowing dramatically.

“Wung mine!” He proclaimed loudly, tugging on Rung’s arm as if to prove his point.

The orange mech cast a smile down at the sparkling. “Sorry Ratchet.” He said. “It would appear that I’m already taken.”

“Wight!” Blades agreed, soothed his friend wasn’t being taken from him.

Focused on him, Rung missed the exasperated look his older friend cut him.

“At least promise me you’ll put yourself out there this year.” Ratchet said, as their tribe approached the last furlong of their journey. “For me.”

“Alright.” Rung agreed, but they both knew it was only so Ratchet would feel better.

“Wights!! Wights!!” Blades shrieked suddenly, as they peaked over the last hill.

“All the lights.” Rung told him, as the tribe paused to take it in. They had made it.

The first Festival held in 25 vorns.

_“Cwool._ ” Blades whispered dramatically--and then they were on their way down.

xXx

A crowd was growing.

Rung still hadn’t caught quite what they were all gathering for yet--or what they were looking at. As far as he could tell Ratchet hadn’t either, nor had the group of mechs they were conversing with.

“Is that--?” A red mech muttered, loud enough to be heard over Pharma’s discussion of a new salve he’d made.

“It is!” Someone else said, in a voice that was not at all a whisper. It cut right over Pharma’s own voice, and the jet stopped talking with a huff, visibly annoyed.

It had finally piqued Rung’s interest though, and with an apologetic glance at the furious medic, he finally gave in and turned to look behind him, at what had caught everyone’s attention.

Three mechs were deep into a discussion with some of the other tribe’s Chief’s--Pious Pools included. The closest to Jetfire was a slim, white speedster with red markings. Empty sheaths highlighted were swords were usually stored on his hips. He cocked his head as he listened to something Iacon’s Chief said, head finials flicking as he did.

_‘Drift.’_ Rung realized, staring at the former Pious Pools mech. He had been one of the first ones that had switched tribes, almost the second after he’d gotten his adult frame.

Standing where he was, with the light reflecting off his plating, he was _stunning._

He didn't outshine either of his companions, though Rung’s optics skipped over the massive mech in the middle to examine the one taking up the rear guard position. A beastformer; rare but not entirely unusual to see amongst the tribes. This one’s plating was a smokey grey, fading in and out of black paint in such a way that would make him impossible to see in the dark. His appearance was cat-like, though no one could mistake the intelligent look in his optics for any old plains-cat.

A booming laugh briefly silenced the hushed conversations, forcing Rung’s gaze to jump back to the mech in the middle. He was one of the largest mech’s he’d ever seen. A lie certainly--Rung knew logically that there _had_ to be people bigger. The way he carried himself, from the watchful red optics to the casual but powerful stance, just made him appear larger than life.

He turned--broad, gunmetal grey chest covered in intricate, tribal markings-and looked dead at Rung.

For a second, the teacher's vents caught.

That was the _Kaon’s_ tribal Chief. The legendary warrior, the one often credited to _winning the war._

He was also the most handsome mech Rung had ever laid his gaze on.

An elbow to his side brought him back, and he turned, dazed, to take in the smirk on Ratchet’s face.

“Can’t believe it either, huh?” Ratchet said, shaking his head. “I sure didn’t. Kid grew a lot.”

“Kid?” Rung echoed, processor scrambling to catch up.

“Yeah. Megatron.” Ratchet nodded his head toward Koan's Chief, and in doing so nearly stopped Rung’s processor altogether. “I knew 25 vorns is a long time, but seeing it was  quite the shock.”

Kaon, The Mountain Tribes Leader, the legendary Chief who had saved countless mechs and tribes throughout the war and won the loyalty of thousands--was _Megatron._

His Megatron.

Who was _still looking_ right at Rung.

Or rather, someone near Rung. Just in case; on the rarest chances it was indeed at him, if he was someone Megatron had somehow managed to remember even though Rung knew he’d never done anything worth remembering, he pulled himself together just long enough to give a gentle smile.

It made Rung feel better anyway. As well as prideful that someone he had spent time with, had introduced to poetry, had gone on to do such great things.

One of the other Chief’s jokingly jostled Megatron, bringing the mech’s attention back.

_‘There.’_ Rung thought, spark still spinning madly. _‘You knew he wasn’t looking at you.’_ It was worth it though, in that moment. Worth it to see someone he cared for, someone he remembered fondly, had grown so much. Not just in age, but in wisdom, strength, cunning--everything.

Rung had no part in Megatron’s past. That didn’t mean he still didn’t feel a connection, no matter how fleeting.

He tucked that feeling inside, treasuring it, then moved to resume his conversation with Pharma and the medics. An apology began to make it's way out of his mouth--Pharma was still fuming. 

Once again, he was interrupted.

“He’s coming this way!” Someone said excitedly. The murmurs exploded into chatter, forcing Rung to turn back--and find Megatron making a beeline dead for him.

That wasn’t right, was it?

No. No, not him.

Who though?

He scrambled to think who Megatron might be coming over here for. Someone important no doubt. Maybe the medics? Ratchet was renowned more than ever as a healer, did someone in Kaon need his help? Perhaps he was even coming over for one of the other healers. Possibly even Orion, the tribes communal Speaker to Primus.

Except Megatron walked right past the red and blue truck. Made his way forward, the crowd parting before him. Every single person getting well out of his path until he was directly in front of Rung and the orange mech found himself scrambling to remember how to move.

Megatron’s face lit up, his shy smile present but aged.

“Rung.” He greeted, coming forward, hesitating only briefly before gently grasping Rung’s hands in his large servos. “Old friend. How are you?”

“I…” Rung trailed off, as he found himself craning his neck to look at a warlord nearly twice his size. “Oh my.” He finished dumbly, processor blurting out the first thing he could think off. “You really did grow.”

The booming laugh returned, the bass reverberating through him.

“Do you remember me?.” Megatron asked, and Rung still couldn’t get over how he had to lean back to see the mech’s face. Megatron had always been tall but the way he’d turned out…

If he wasn’t already mated, he’d literally have people lined up just for the chance!

“Of course,” Rung managed, and with an internal shake, brought his own smile back. “Chief Megatron.”

“Just Megatron, if you please.” Was the response, as Megatron carefully dropped Rung’s hands. “I have an important question to ask you, if you have the time?”

“For you? Always.” Rung said, and though he was joking, trying to play into his promise to always be there for the younglings and sparklings, his tone was off.

_‘Of course it’s off.’_ He internally chastised himself. _‘Megatron isn’t a youngling anymore, and you absolutely cannot treat him like one!’_ Not that he was but--it was hard to know how he should treat a friend-turned-Chief. Particularly one as important as Megatron was!

While he’d been internally panicking, Megatron had pulled out an old datapad, carefully turning it on before offering it to Rung.

“During the last Festival the Cybertronian tribe’s held, I made a claim.” He announced, this time in a voice meant to carry.

Horribly confused and absolutely flustered, Rung could only listen.

“I know it was a long time ago, and I know you might not remember it, but I made my intentions known that when the time came, I intended to lay a claim on you as a mate.” Megatron continued, now pushing the datapad into Rung’s hands.

Doing his best not to let his jaw hit the floor, the teacher took it.

“Back then you requested the court to start with a gift of poetry that I had written. On the datapad you hold, “Megatron gestured to the pad, which Rung clutched like a lifeline. "is the completion of my request. There are one thousand one hundred and five poems, all written with you, and your request, in mind. I have been informed by your tribal Chief you are currently unmated, and in light of that, so long as no one has beat me to it, I’d like to stake my own claim.”

Megatron took a measured step back, and Rung could only watch in shock as the mech swept into a low bow, one given to those of equal standing. “Rung of Pious Pools!” Megatron boomed as he rose back to his full, towering height. “I, Megatron, Chief and Leader of the Kaon Tribe, lay claim to you as mate. Do you accept?”

Hushed silence. Rung abruptly realized there were dozens of optics on him, as Megatron's announcement had drawn not just the attention of the crowd, but of most the camp. Adding in his own surprise that Megatron hadn’t just remembered him, but remembered his claim, had written over a thousand songs _just for him--!!_

It was too much.

He didn’t know what to do.

“This is the part where you accept.” Ratchet stage whispered behind

“I--” Rung said, suddenly aware of just how nervous Megatron looked beneath that shy smile. “yes. Yes of course.”  

Most the crowd cheered, taking that as acceptance, but unseen to Rung, Megatron was frowning.

“Rung?” The Chief asked quietly, stepping closer so his words wouldn’t be heard by anyone else. “Is that actually a yes?”

The smaller mech opened his mouth--and found he had nothing to say. Frozen, he couldn’t even look Megatron in the face.

This was a mistake. A horrible, terrible mistake--because Megatron was a Chief. More than that, he was a hero whose actions would be passed down for a hundreds of vorns. The mech who became Megatron’s mate would have to match him _, should_ match him! More than just being a legendary figure, but more in being a pillar of the tribe’s community, a center of support.

He wasn’t nearly important enough for that role.

“Rung?” Megatron questioned gently, field tinged with concern.“Are you alright?”

Optics burning a hole the datapad in his hands, Rung shook his head. This wasn’t the first time he’d had this conversation, and yet somehow, this time seemed so much harder.

“I can’t accept your claim.” Rung replied, just as quietly. They still had plenty of the crowd’s attention, but most had seen Megatron come closer to Rung and assumed their hushed conversation was no doubt something romantic in nature. Even Ratchet had taken a step back, attempting to give them space.

“I’m honored.” Rung continued, because he was. That Megatron remembered him, that he wrote all that poetry...The datapad grew heavier in Rung’s hands, as he felt the weight of all that attention. Of that focus. “I am. But I’m not worthy of it--or of you.” He still couldn't raise his optics, unable to look Megatron in the face. Couldn't bring himself to find any hurt there.

The warlord would get over it though. He’d know Rung’s right, just as Skids did.

Instantly, immediately. The very second Rung pointed it out.

“There’s someone here for you, but that person has to be able to take on the position of your mate. They need to be strong enough to carry you, your tribe. They need to be kind, compassionate, caring--the voice of reason. I don’t have the skills necessary--”

A hand gently cupped his chin, interrupting his rapid speech, and cutting Rung’s voice off entirely. Gently, thick servos tilted his head upwards, to finally look Megatron in the face.

“How could the person who has so greatly influenced my life, not be worthy of a claim?” The grey mech whispered, optics staring into Rung’s. Years worth of wisdom reflected in them, wisdom that seemed to have bypassed Rung entirely.

“How could the one mech who helped me achieve everything I have, feel unworthy of me?” Megatron continued, voice serious.

As serious as he had been all those years ago.

“If anything Rung,” He continued, “I’m unworthy of you.”

“No.” Rung blurted, but Megatron simply moved his thumb over, silencing him with a gentle press to the smaller mech’s lips.

“If you truly don’t want to reject my claim, I won’t stop you.” Megatron added calmly. “If you have no desire to be my mate, because you find fault with me or the position you’d be taking in Kaon’s tribe, I understand, and I respect your decision. It won’t go any farther. But,” And there was a smile Rung had never seen on Megatorn, a teasing, almost hopeful smile, so small it looked delicate.

“-and I understand it’s selfish of me to ask this, but--will you give me until the claiming period before you make a decision?”

Unable to look away, all too aware of how ruggedly _handsome_ Megatron had become (but more so how much Megatron had worked, how much his life and thoughts _had centered on Rung himself)_ he found himself unable to say no.

Unable as in he opened his mouth to gently let the Chief down again, only to end up saying the world’s smallest “Yes.”

“You’ll give me the three days?” Megatron asked again, making sure Rung said what he meant. “I don’t want you too, but you can say no, Rung.”

“Yes.” Rung said, firmly this time, making up his mind then and there. This would hurt; allowing Megatron time to hang his hopes on Rung, but it would also give the young  Chief time to realize how ill suited Rung was.

In the end, it would hurt the older mech more rather than the younger, but it was a life lesson Megatron seemed to need to learn.

Rung couldn’t deny him that. Not with Megatron’s poetry still in his hands, that grey face hiding the shyness Rung could still detect now that he was up close and looking for it.

Tribal stories didn’t stop just because the teller ended it. No, so many of their stories centered on real people. On legends. Sometimes, even after their biggest, bravest stories were finished, those legends still had a few lessons to learn.

Rung could teach. Had always been good at teaching.

It would hurt, yes. But he’d do what was needed, to get Megatron to start his next story.

“Thank you.” Megatron said; and with a surprising amount of flexibility leaned down and kissed Rung chastely on the cheek.

“I need to go take care of a few things, but I’ll see you tonight.” He promised.

Face flushing, Rung murmured his acknowledgment. He watched as Megatron strode away from him, the few people left from the crowd still giving way to him.

“Told you this was your year.” Ratchet said smugly, appearing next to Rung’s elbow.

Despite a desire to give into temptation and smack the healer with the datapad, Rung simply gave him a withering look instead.

xXx

 

The beastformer was named Ravage, and the slim mech, who’d blushed furiously when Ratchet had grabbed him up in a hug, was the now-grown Drift. 

Both were grinning wildly in Rung and Megatron’s direction, though they blanked their faces when Rung glanced their way.

That didn’t stop Ratchet from seeing it though. 

“You think your Chief will win him over?” He challenged, sitting across from the two, poking idly at the fire they shared. 

“Of course.” Ravage purred, without a trace of doubt. 

“Megatron chose him.” Drift added. “The whole tribe’s known he’s been the Chief’s intended from the second we left the last festival. The only one who hasn’t accepted it is Rung himself.”

“You think it’ll be that simple?” Ratchet argued, optic ridge raising.

The two Kaon mechs looked at each other, and Ratchet got an up close look as the wide grins returned. 

“Maybe not simple...” Ravage conceded, voice trailing off. 

“But Megatron’s got a lot of help behind the scenes.” Drift finished for him. 

The optic ridge was joined by a doubtful, if not slightly judgmental gaze. “Does he know you two are helping?” Ratchet asked. 

“Oh it's not just us.” Drift assured. “He’s got the entire tribe backing him on this.” 

“And he definitely knows.” Ravage said, twinkle in his optic. 

“Oh?” 

“We’ve had to listen to him talk about Rung for years.” Ravage continued, leaning forward as though he was unveiling a secret. “Nevermind listening to all the poetry he’s written about the guy. There isn’t a spark in the tribe who wouldn’t want to help him.” 

As though suddenly aware Rung was technically Ratchet’s good friend rather than just an old friend of Drift's, the speedster sheepishly added; “Would you mind, ah, not passing that along?” 

Ratchet hummed, leaning back. “For now.” He said after a moment of consideration--if only to see what the entirety of Kaon tribe would pull. 

Hopefully it would be something grand.

xXx 

Their first night of the courtship was quiet. Peaceful. 

Romantic even, if Rung were to acknowledge the way Megatron had tucked him gently into his side. They had spent a while at one of the smaller communal fires, chatting and catching up. The conversation immediately easy.

As if time hadn't passed between them at all. 

Rung had managed to read a few of Megatron’s poems by the time the warlord had come for him, and it was the subject of the majority of their  conversation. Megatron's improvement was easy to track, though so far Rung had found some of his earlier poems to be his favorites. He couldn't say for sure though. Not until he had read them all. 

Chuckling, Megatron had told him there was no rush to finish them, but Rung felt the desire to do so anyway. 

They were written about him after all. 

Alone that night, staring up at the top of his tent, Rung finally felt the weight of how hard this was going to be--and the fact that deep down inside, a part of him wanted this. 

It was a hope he did his best to squash. 

Megatron would see how bad of a mate he’d be soon enough. He might as well enjoy the attention while it all lasted. 

xXx 

Drift was waiting for him bright and early the next morning, a dead tired and rather grumpy Ratchet next to him. 

“Our Chief sends his apologies for not being able to meet you.” He said cheerily, catching Rung just as he was exiting his tent. “If you don’t mind, myself and Ratchet would love to escort you around the art and performance stages!” 

“We’re stuck on guard duty so the answer to that is yes.” Ratchet half-snarled. The medic had been up late, discussing things with Drift well past the point where most mechs had retired for the evening. He clearly hadn’t planned on being dragged out of recharge. 

Rung gave him the sweetest smile he could muster, stepping in-between his guards. “Of course.” He said, watching as Ratchet immediately interpreted the teasing tone he was using, and gave a glare in response. “As is tradition!” 

A claimed mech couldn’t be exactly be unclaimed, unless either party involved called it off early--but that didn’t stop anyone from matenapping or hiding Rung away in order to make Megatron “work” to prove his affections. It was a common game that the tribes used to play, particularly against those who were well known. 

Rung was currently a high target, not that he personally thought anyone would dare grab him.

Or would even want to grab him, really. 

He and his "guards"  moved in unison, heading towards the inner rings of the Festival were the art stages and displays were held. The morning was often considered to be the best time to view the sculptures, sand art, and other pieces brought by various mechs, with the light hitting them just right. rung wasn't surprised this was the distraction Drift (and apparently, Ratchet) had been assigned. 

“So,” He said, because tradition or not, no one said he couldn’t do a little meddling of his own. “Drift, Ratchet isn’t a fan of some of the spiritual crystal displays. Would you mind providing a counter argument?” 

Finials twitching in surprise, Drift blinked, then immediately launched into a long history of the crystals and their importance. 

Not soon after, Ratchet began poking holes in it. 

The two had a rather hilarious, if not playfully heated argument the rest of the morning. Rung did his best to hide his smiles behind his hands--and turn attention away from how the two mechs drifted towards one another. 

Just because he wasn’t going to get a happy ending, didn’t mean Ratchet couldn’t. 

xXx 

“Ah, there you both are!” A familiar voice yelled over the crowd. Morning had melted into an early afteroon. and a crowd had joined them in to look at all the art. Rung turned his attention away from a current live performance to see Hot Rod worm his way through, unmistakable even from the few memories Rung had of him as a youngling. 

“Drift, mech, what are you doing!? You’re due at the sparring pits in five!” He yelled again, despite being well within hearing range. 

“Frag I am. Sorry Roddy.” Drift cursed. “Got distracted.” 

“Wonder who did that.” Hot Rod teased, casting a blatant look towards Ratchet. 

Drift shot him a glare, but turned and made his apologies to Ratchet and Rung both. “I’ll see you both down there!” He called as he jogged away. 

Hot Rod just rolled his optics. “Guess that means I’m up for guard duty.” He said. “How you doin’, teach?” 

Rung blinked at the nickname, surprised that an adult mech would refer to him as that--or by a nickname at all. Though more than one youngling had struggled and ended up calling him glasses...

“I take it our next destination is the sparring pits?”  Ratchet asked. 

Hot Rod nodded, casually turning around and slotting himself to the left of Rung, so the smaller mech was protected on both sides. "Surprise guys, we’re gonna take the long way. Give our combatants some time to limber up.” 

“Am I right in assume Drift’s opponent is Megatron?” Ratchet continued, walking forward. Hot Rod and Rung fell into step easily with him, and true to word the path they took was a meandering one. 

“You got it. Boss wanted to show off for the new mate.” 

Rung pointed ignored the wink that accompanied that, instead pretending to be invested in a tent selling small wares.

“Is that why he’s facing off against Drift instead of another tribe’s warrior?” Ratchet questioned. “Hoping for an easy win?” 

“Opposite actually.” Hot Rod bantered back. “He knew Drift could be counted on to fight honestly. Besides, Drift himself seems to want to show off.”

“Ah, pardon.” Rung interjected, slightly lost. Mostly because he had never witnessed much of the Festival sparring contests or competitions--he’d always been too busy with the sparklings. “Why wouldn’t anyone else fight honestly?

“When it comes to courtship battles, the opponents talk before hand, you know? They want to give everyone a show, but unless it’s an actual battle over claiming rights well…” Hot Rod trailed off, waving a hand as though that completed his thoughts. 

“Everyone wants the suitor to win.” Ratchet finished. Fake fighting, or intentional loses were one of those things people joked about, but pretended never actually happened. 

No matter how obvious it was. 

“Megatron didn’t want that to happen though. He wanted to prove to you how serious he is. So he spoke with my tribe, and everyone elses, and made sure the only people competing against him today are mechs who want to fight him for real.” Hot Rod added. “Drift is his first opponent. Boss thinks their battle will set the tone, and make it clear he wants fair fights, and fair fights only.” 

“Sounds like him.” Rung agreed. Then, a little hesitantly added; “This is all safe...?” 

"Don’t worry.” The speedster nudged Rung’s shoulders, though the movement about sent Rung sprawling. “That’s why they got healer’s like Ratch’ watching!” 

“Don’t call me that.” Ratchet grumped. “And if anyone goes down in the pits, I will not be the one fixing them!” He went on to mutter something about “Stupid idiots” and hurting themselves in dumb games, but clearly knew his audience had already heard that argument before. 

It was a common complaint, when it came to medics and sparring.

“Sure, sure.” Hot Rod agreed easily. Too easily. He leaned towards Rung, loudly whispering; “Bet ya’ if Drift gets hurt, Ratchet will be the first to tend to him!” 

Ratchet just rolled his optics.

xXx

“You are an _idiot!”_ Ratchet snarled while wrapping Drift’s arm. The speedster had been disarmed roughly halfway through the fight, and had ended up using his own arm to block several blows from Megatron’s weapon of choice--a spiked flail. “You don’t spar with sharpened weapons!”

“We thought it be more impressive.” Drift said sheepishly. “The crowd seemed to enjoy it.”  

“Because that’s a good reason to do anything!” Ratchet snarled. “You’re lucky you didn’t lose this arm!”

On the other side of the pit, where all the spectators sat, Hot Rod watched them and laughed.

Rung smiled with him, though his optics remained on Megatron. The warlord had taken a few hits himself, though nothing as serious as Drift’s arm. He was casually cleaning his flail as the sparring referees were figuring out his next opponent. 

Apparently, the one due to go after Drift had bowed out.

“Too scared.” Hot Rod said proudly, though the mech next to him disagreed, and tried to argue about it. 

Rung ignored them both, too focused on his intened to bother to listen.

Seeming to realize optics were on him, Megatorn looked up, squarely catching Rung’s gaze. Before the smaller mech could think to look away, the warlord gave him a slow, lazy grin.

It was heated, more so than any other look Megatron had ever given him.  Rung's spark pulsed, as desire flooded through him. It was a natural response--but it still shocked him to feel it. 

_‘You can’t have him.’_ He reminded himself firmly.  _‘He just hasn’t figured that you’re not a good match for him yet.’_

_‘But what if he doesn’t agree?”_ A different voice said, quietly at the back of his mind. _‘What if he does want you?’_

It was an absurd thought. Silly even.

Megatron gave a slow, seducing wink, one aimed clearly for him--and for the first time in a long, long while, Rung gave in to the hope. Just a little bit--but even a little bit was enough.

“Fighters to the arena!” A ref called, breaking the spell. Megatron rose smoothly, swapping out his flail for a long pole instead. He moved to stand on the left side of the sand arena, waiting patiently as his opponent stepped up.

Rung wasn’t the only one surprised when Chief Jetfire appeared.

“You’re courting one of Pious Pools best members!” The jet called, swinging his own pole easily. “You might as well fight me for him!”

Optics wide, Rung had to scramble to push his glasses back in place before they fell off.

“Of course.” Megatron concurred, sliding easily into a fighters stance. Jetfire followed him, both waiting for the ref to count them in.

They sprang forward once released, the fight immediately intense. Once again Rung was treated to a series of smooth movements as Megatron and Jetfire danced back and fourth. This fight felt different from the previous match, the energy far more intense. Focused. 

Though Drift and Megatron had been fighting with real weapons--and treating the fight as a serious one because of it--it had still felt playful. There was jokes, and attacks that were used more to show off than anything else. 

None of that was present in the second fight.

It was just two mechs, grappling with poles, sparring so fast Rung couldn’t catch half of what was happening until the first hit was called--in Jetfire’s favor.

“Reset!” The ref yelled, as they returned to opposite sides of the ring.

Both were venting hard. Megatron cut a glance upwards--though it took Rung a moment to realize he was once again trying to look at him.

Without thinking, Rung winked. He was horribly embarrassed the second he’d done it--what was he _thinking!?-_ -but it seemed to energize his intended, giving Megatron a wild grin.

The second after the countdown reached zero, Megatron sprang in, immediately landing a hit on Jetfire!

The crowd fell silent as the ref’s called it, returning both fighters to the starting points once again.

“Begin!” Called the ref, and for the last, and final time, both mechs launched at each other, this time giving it their all.

Rung could barely track the poles as they flew, the cracks of them hitting each other echoing. A _sss- **crunch!**_ Sounded, following by Jetfire’s pole flying out of his hands and breaking in half.

Rather than continue with the poles, Megatron took a half step back, dropped his own pole, then circled Jetfire, the both of them now barehanded.

“That is why he made Chief.” Hot Rod whispered, though Rung wasn’t certain who he was talking to. He found he didn’t care as Jetfire launched a series of strikes, while Megatron evaded. "His sense of honor is unmatched." 

Seconds later Megatron flew on the offensive forcing Jetfire back. 

Each seemed to counter at the same time, then--

“Hit!” The ref finally called, halting both mechs in their tracks.

The crowd was silent in anticipation, all wanting to see who’d won the bought.

“Winner--Megatron!” He called.

Cheers went up, the crowd roaring as Megatron raised one arm in victory.

“Go on, go give your intended a hug. He just won for you!” Hot Rod urged, nudging Rung forward. Compelled, Rung did just that, though the walk into the arena seemed like a dream. He paused once he hit the edge, unsure if he should step forward--but thankfully, the decision was taken from him.

Megatron strode forward, sweeping  him up in a hug. Rung hugged him back, half out of self preservation and half out of instinct. The crowd cheered louder at the two of them, whistles and laughter intertwined in it. 

Somehow over the celebration of the crowd (and Megatron’s shoulder) he managed to hear Drift’s voice flirtatiously say; “If you won’t give me any salve for it, can you at least kiss it better?”

As well as Ratchet's annoyed, _"Absolutely not."_

Which, finally, got a laugh out of Rung himself.

Somewhere, deep inside, the hope that this would all turn out grew a little more.

xXx

 

Rung spent the rest of the day with his intended, though Megatron had needed a cool-down after his fights.

The Chief accomplished that by procuring a box of sweets from seemingly nowhere. Hours passed by as they sat, talking and trying out sweets. Finally, the sky darkened, the fires lit, and the sound of drums and instruments sounded, signalling the beginning of the first dance.

“Shall we?” Megatron said, standing and offering a hand to Rung.

“If you’d like.” Rung responded, but accepted the hand, happy to once again be tucked into the larger mech’s side as they walked. It was starting to became a favorite thing of his--how easily he was enveloped by the larger mech. 

Dancing wasn’t something Rung had done much of in his life. He was certain he was going to make a fool of himself, even if he swore to enjoy it while he did--but Megatron made it easy. He stayed around Rung the entire time, even when the dance split from paired to a group dance.

Somehow, despite how many others wanted to dance with the warlord, Megatron’s focus never wavered.

After more dances than Rung could count, Megatron finally swept him off the the side, whispering about one last surprise.

“You’ve given me sweets, fought for me, and danced, what else could we possibly do today?”

“I want to give you the full experience of the festival. All the things you missed, since you’ve always been watching the sparklings.” Megatron responded, taking Rung down all the spiraling areas of the Festival.

“I chose to do that.” the teacher protested. 

“And now you’re choosing to enjoy it for once.” Megatron teased, as they walked just out of sight of camp, up to the top of the nearest hill.  As they reached the edge of trees, Rung spotted a hand woven blanket, made from fiberglass and kevlar. Two canteens of energon sat on either side, the whole thing stretched out so they could easily see both the sky and all of the Festival stretched out before them. 

The Festival and one suspicious looking tail. 

“I think most of all I’ve enjoyed your helpers.” Rung said, Optic’s crinkling as the tail disappeared and someone rustled their way out in the bushes. 

“They’re all hoping you say yes, you know.” Megatron said, lowering himself easily to the ground. He held out an arm for Rung to do the same. “I’ve spent a lot of time talking about you.”

Rung flushed. “You have?” He murmured, laying down on his back.

“Of course.” Megatron said. “You inspired a lot of us."

“I met you all for three days. How could I have possibly done that?” Rung protested. It felt a little silly to be doing so on his back, in such a beautiful place but--it was true. He barely made an impression on anyone he lived with!

“Three days is more than enough time to be an inspiration.” Megatron countered smoothly. “If a single piece of art or a poem can inspire someone for vorns, than an actual person, who spent almost all their time with a bunch of kids, can absolutely leave a mark for a lifetime.”

Rung flushed, unsure of what to say to that. Arguing against it seemed disrespectful, especially after Megatron had written so many poems for him. He just--wasn’t sure he could inspire anyone in such a way.

Yet, it was clear he had.

There was no way to counter that. Not when it so easily cut all his own arguments, his own insecurities down. 

"I promise I'll prove it to you." Megatron said quietly, before allowing them both to change topics. "Tomorrow." 

"Alright." Rung said.

They spent the rest of the night looking at the stars, trading stories of ones they knew. Rung tried to force Megatron's promise in the back of his processor. 

Hope chewed at his doubts--but his doubts fought back. 

It was too difficult to think about which would win--so Rung simply, didn't. 

It was better to enjoy the night and make a memory, then focus on how this all would turn out. 

xXx

The rest of the last day went like a dream.

Rung spent the majority of it with Megatron, mostly walking around and just spending time together. Discussing poetry, both Megatron’s and works by others. This time though they weren't secluded. No friends posing as "guards" surrounded them, they weren't in a tucked away corner or around a small fire--no, for some reason, Megatron had placed them in the busiest section of the Festival, seeming content to let them talk there. 

Rung couldn't see a reason for it, but then, Megatron hadn't yet brought up his promise.

Not until an hour in, when Megatron suddenly seemed to attract a never ending stream of mechs with questions. Both from his tribe, and from others. 

Rung was happy to quietly wait while Megatron conversed with them, more than once solving some small problem or another. Mostly it involved someone asking his opinion on this or that. All of them were ecstatic to have his opinion, with Megatron seeming happy to give it. 

He _was_ surprised when Megatron began regularly asking him his opinion as well--and even more so when his cautiously given answers seemed to be well accepted. Appreciated even, almost as much as Megatron's answers were. 

“Did you think the only person you made an impression on was our dear leader?” A green mech joked, one that vaguely looked like one of the younger sparklings that had enjoyed crawling over Rung so much. “We all value your opinion. Thank for the help!”

“Anytime.” Megatron said, as the mech trotted away.

“Do they really--” Rung blurted out unthinkingly, before catching himself. He flushed, horrified that he’d even attempted to say such a thing aloud. He prayed Megatron hadn’t caught it--but apparently, luck wasn't on his side today.

“Value your opinion?” Megatron finished. "They do." 

Caught out, Rung flushed even harder, heat pouring off his face. “Ah.” He said, in a vain attempt to save the conversation, only to realize he had absolutely nothing he could use to bail himself out with.

“I think if you were to look closely at your own tribe,” Megatron said gently. “you’d find that your opinion is just as valued there as it is in Kaon’s.

“If you say so.” Rung agreed, suddenly realizing how he'd been set up. Megatron was making good on his promise. He was showing how welcome Rung's opinion was, how it was sought after just as much as Megatron's own. 

“I don’t just say so.” Megatron said seriously. “I know so. And if you choose to accept my claim as your mate Rung, I will spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”

Unsure, but desperate to change the conversation, Rung hummed an agreement.

Accepting hope, letting it build, acknowledging it, was a difficult thing. Rung had been slowly allowing it in, allowing it to fill himself--but now he actually had to confront it.

The scariest part in doing so was realizing he did, actually, want this. To be courted. To be Megatron’s mate. All of it.

It would hurt, so, so badly if things went wrong at this point--which meant Rung finally had to admit to himself that the hope he had wasn’t a little thing, or a growing thing. Not anymore.

A part of him still expected this to fail. To go horribly wrong once the night--and the Festival--ended.

Looking at Megatron’s gentle optics, the way his servos weaved in with Rung’s.

It was too late, he realized. Too late to back out, to late do do anything other than ride it out to the end.

Even if all the was waiting for him was spark-break.

xXx

 “You tested these, right?” Nautica asked cautiously, staring into the box of sticks Brainstorm had procured.

“Of course!” Brainstorm said, fiddling with a tube that was a whole lot larger than the rest. “I was originally hoping to use them as weapons, but they ended up not really being powerful enough for that.” He slide a ball wrapped in fabric into the tube as he talked, then drew a thin string-like line out of the entire contraption. “They’re perfectly safe. Just don’t aim them at your optics.”

Nautica gingerly picked the box up, clearly untrusting of her tribesmates inventions. “If you say so. We _are_ planning on using these for the finale.”

Brainstorm waved a hand, as though trying to wave her doubts away. “Don’t worry so much! This is all our Chief needs to convince Rung. Just make sure everyone has one and that they all understand how to light it.” He stood, grinning madly as he held the finished tube in his hands. “Besides if everything completely fails, I have the _best_ backup plan.”

“That’s not reassuring.” Nautica muttered, but her voice was fond.

She knew, as they all knew, that Rung didn’t need all the crazy things the Kaon tribe had been doing. What really mattered was Megatron himself. If there was one thing she had faith in, it was her Chief.

He’d win the guy over, regardless of whether or not Brainstorm’s invention blew half the crowd up.

xXx

Rung should have seen this coming. Megatron had been discussing poetry with him on and off all day, and by the end of it had carefully steered him to the poetry stages.

It really shouldn’t have surprised the smaller mech to discover Megatron was doing a reading. 

Somehow it still was.

It was like deja vu, only this time, the crowd wasn’t smiling and muttering encouragements. There’s no polite applause, or a group of adult mechs cooing as the grey mech read.

No, Megatron ascended the stage to anticipated silence. Somehow, this had became a main event. Not just for the Festival, but for their courtship. 

More important than the dancing, or most their traditions.

This was a group effort--his entire courtship had been a group effort. He recognized that now, along with how Megatron truly had poured his whole spark into the last three days. He’d set out to show Rung all the things he missed, as well as how much people truly did respect and treasure him. Every move was carefully calculated to chip away at all the walls Rung had set up.

He didn't think he wasn’t worth it. 

Megatron wasn’t stopping though. Neither was anyone else.

Despite the flaws he’d tried so hard to show, the doubts he’d laid bare last night under the stars…

Now, staring up at Megatron, Rung knew none of it mattered.

Not in the long run. He was caught. Truly, completely caught. If Megatron really did ask him to be his mate…

Megatron cleared his vocalizer, interrupting Rung’s thoughts. Slowly, with great consideration, the grey mech began to read.

“Before I left,

“You wrapped your heart

In layers of concrete

Walls so stern

You wanted to make sure

No one could break through

Not me

Or any of you

But I was there

More than willing

To wound

My hands

For you. “

Rung blinked, startled beyond all measure. This was a new poem--when had Megatron even had the time to write a new poem!? Let alone one so pointed, so personal!

But everything the mech had done had been personal. Considerate. Even though they’d only met each other for a few days.

It was hard to deny how much of an influence he’d had on Megatron back then--but now, Rung found he couldn’t deny how much thought the mech had given to including him in the future.

“I have done

My best

To break through.

Today I stand before you

All laid bare

To tell you

The hole

I made

Was never a burden

But a bridge

For us to share.

All I can ask

Is to give me a chance

To prove my love to you.”

This time there was no applause when the poem ended. No one said a word as Megatron slowly lowered the poem he was reading, to stare directly into Rung’s optics, freezing him in place.

The crowd parted as he stepped down, but it wasn’t until the first match was struck and the thin stick lit that Rung realized the mechs making the path were all the ones who had helped Megatron court him.

Fire crackled and popped, as the end of the sticks lit with sparkling flames. He’d find out later Brainstorm had named his inventions ‘sparklers’ but in the moment, all he could see was a wave of love directed right at him, a wave Megatron rode on as he walked down the makeshift isle.

“Rung.” He asked, voice easily heard even above all the popping noises. “The courtship period has ended. Will you be my mate?”

Five words Rung abruptly realized he had always wanted to hear--but only if it came from the right person.

Here, now, it was clear Megatron was.

“Yes.” He said, taking the last step towards Megatron, and bringing them together.

Carefully, telegraphing every movement, Megatron leaned down. Instinctively, Rung leaned up.

Their lips met in the middle, the kiss tender.

A massive boom interrupted them, and Rung pulled away, startled, as the sky was covered in a spray of golden light. 

_“Brainstorm!”_ Nautica howled, somewhere to the right.

“It’s okay it was supposed to do that!” Brainstorm called back.

Startled, Megatron and Rung looked at each other, before bursting into laughter. Rung let his head fall forward, helm resting on Megatron’s chest, enjoying the feeling of it moving up and down.

It would be a while before Rung could truly accept this, he knew. A while before his own concerns, anxiety and inner voices stopped telling him he wasn’t worth any of this.

For the first time, he knew that it didn’t matter--because Megatron, and his tribe, would be with him, proving how much Rung with worth, every step of the way.


End file.
